Poetry: Psalm 46 Haze by David L O’Nan from the Cartoon Diaries (2019)

In mornings when most kings dine
In a sweat of night, the heat clutched
To the skin
In mighty robes
Yet, like a wet mop
A tide of anger
A misguided dreamer
Of thievery, wanted all the treasures
All the lucid wanderings
Gold coin eyeballs
Designed in statuesque build
Shallow, there will not be any crumbling
in my march through civil breakdowns
One king, death on rapid waters
The rocks like the clouds,
depends on powers of the wind
To move us from the heat
Like a Psalm 46 haze
He breaks the bows and shatters the spears
And cartoon kings start to smear
Paint begins to clump, like a clogged artery
Stains through to the canvas,
Blasphemy blankets purity
And in oceans and rivers
There isn’t any fresh fish
Smudges of floating ink, like blood
Ships keep moving in the night
The lighthouse light reflects only former royal shadows

You forget false righteousness
And you brand in the tattooed crimson to sea bottoms.

Time Dilation by Saba Zahoor

Memory is water.
So she takes care lest it takes
to turbulence in her warped soul
or flow heedlessly through,
and flood
the pathways of her body.
Maybe it is just a dream:
Her childhood prancing around,
with the attention span of butterflies,
flitting about from one flower to another
in her grandfather’s garden of origami.
Where gnomes would appear
from behind the rose bushes
and slip into her pockets,
manuscripts of much importance.
They always read the same:
‘Catch the fugitive. Don’t let it go.’
But it fled,
fled from her grandfather’s house
of clockworks, up through
the staircase of geodesics
onto the terrace of wormholes
and up and away.
It escaped at the speed of light,
sapping the soul out of her body.

Memory is water.
It freezes at the touch of her fingertips, and turns into
a wisp of tendrils
as she attempts to clasp it tight.
Time had slowed down;
the garden left untended.
The all too familiar landscape,
the stern and the rigid birch trees,
the solitary mulberry tree,
had all been stirred giddy
as into the melting broth
of a witch’s cauldron.
But it was as she had
long since suspected:
Time Dilation.
Everything had been bargained
for the wondrous journey
of her stellar childhood.
In a multiverse of possibilities,
pining for the comet of childhood
that comes but once in a lifetime,
she had descended
into declining years
seamlessly, indiscernibly
till it was said of her
‘Could it be she too had been a child once?’

Memory is water.
It changes its form every time
she looks back on it;
reshapes itself with every container that tries to hold it-
overflowing in the heart,
firing lightening bolts through the mind.
Your life
skips like a stone over a lake:
now like a child playing in the water,
now like an old woman grown weary of it;
never feeling like an adult
(Your adulthood as if skimmed out.)
You witness the hands of the clock
convulsing with hysteria:
How does one recover from that?
How does one wind that clock?
How does one count afresh;
mark the days again, after
the summers and the winters
of one’s convalescence?
What does one do when one is
done dusting and sorting, ironing
out all the wrinkles, she wondered.
Gardening, perhaps?
Yes, life could be perfect again
as she imagined her kids,
with the attention span of butterflies,
flitting about from one flower to another
in her garden of origami.

Saba Zahoor is from Kashmir

selective focus photo of brown and blue hourglass on stones
photo from Unsplash by Aron Visuals

Fevers of the Mind Feature: Catrice Greer

*The following interview & poetry was published in Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020 Anthology*

*Catrice Greer is a Spotlight Poet in the Anthology*

Interview with Catrice Greer

 1) Please describe your latest book, what about your book will intrigue the readers the most, and what is the theme, mood?

Catrice: I am working on my first chapbook publication. I expect this to be a selection across topics. I have several books planned. The books planned beyond that one are specifically themed. Themes I write about are a broad span of Spirituality, transcendence, trauma, consent, disability, healing,mental health, love, the environment, human nature, the cosmos, ancestral topics, cultural traditions, identity, dialect, food & culture, Orishas, and music I often weave my love of the sciences, math, astronomy, astral travel, biblical spiritual references, and futurism into my work.

2) What frame of mind and ideas lead to you writing your current book?

Catrice: My first chapbook would be my introduction to the literary world in print and encapsulates many ideas from over the years. Although I have written for several decades, I did not choose to publish a book. I chose to focus on refining my voice and craft. In the last few years, in service to the work I am creating, I felt there was a purpose, an audience and space that would be a good fit for the work to speak for itself. My choice to publish now is solely in service to the work itself. It feels like the right timing. I get a sense the work will live best published now versus earlier.

3) How old were you when you first have become serious about your writing, do you feel your work is always adapting?

Catrice: I began writing early somewhere around ages 8,9,10. At 10, I began to be compelled to write. Ages11/12, I experimented. By age 14, it was clear for me that it was a necessity. I was mentored one to one by a high school teacher. I wrote for academic publications in high-school and was editor and editor in chief of a creative journal. While in my senior year of high school, I also began writing as a Features writer intern for a local historic newspaper at age 17. I went on to intern, associate produce (credit) and write scripts as an intern for a local tv station in my college years. I continued a smattering of explorative involvement in media in various forms off and on through my twenties. My own private writings of poetry simultaneously continued to grow and refine. My declared major in college was English Literature. During that time, I began to perform spoken word and recite poetry. Mainly I did this at events via another mentor in college who felt it was a good avenue for me to learn to conquer my shyness. I’ve continued to write privately since then, until now.

To your second question, yes, to some extent my work is always growing and adapting. It adapts as I grow and as my vision of the world and of myself grows. As my perception refines and my craft refines, so does my work and approach to the work. At this time, I am clear that I write in service to bringing work forward in its divine nature.

4) What authors, poets, musicians have helped shape your work, or who do you find yourself being drawn to the most?

Catrice: That’s a complex question. I’ve read so many poets and writers. Off the top of my head, I can say Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, Octavia Butler, Laini Mataka, Sonia Sanchez, Ntozake Shange, Audre Lorde, Kalamu Ya Salaam, Pablo Neruda, Wislawa Symborska, Jean Auel, Deepak Chopra, Zitkala-Sa, Ivan Van Sertima, T. S. Eliot, Milton, Lacan, Saussure, Descartes, Jung, some Freud, Kafka, Andrew Marvell, Shakespeare, and many, many more.

My love of music is vast. I love opera, R&B, alt rock, alt classical rock, gospel, jazz, alt Christian music,Hymns, African-American classic hymns, some folk music, the list goes on. Those influences show up in my work time and time again. It runs through my soul. I write through the music I feel as emotion and the words for me are music.

5) What other activities do you enjoy doing creatively, or recreationally outside of being a writer, and do you find any of these outside writing activities merge into your mind and often become parts of a poem?

Catrice: I am a former photographer, former dancer, former dessert caterer and entrepreneur. I still like to cook. I enjoy nutrition, and herbology. I garden sometimes. I keep a small personal healing apothecary. I enjoy fermenting foods for health. No longer in a home, but now an apartment, I keep a modest plant system and a fledgling kratky garden. I sketch a little, use various creative mediums sometimes. I enjoy singing with a community choir. I like creating songs lyrics to express some type of emotion. I listen to music for hours and hours. I used to be active in athletic pursuits for several decades. I am healing from something that creates an impairment and disability for me at this time, so being that active is abbreviated for the moment. But at heart, I am athletic. Currently, I enjoy walking, light hiking, yoga, weights. I love films. I like science and enjoy learning about various sciences in my spare time. I enjoy learning languages.

I am a Christian. I am of Catholic faith. And I am human. The combination of those elements as well as my own broad curiosity, acceptance of spirituality in general factors into my work. I see and channel much through a very spiritual lens with an understanding and respect that we are all connected and that the universe is vast. All the activities I noted above show up from time to time in my work or in how I come to the work itself and process life. The more fully and vibrantly I live, the richer the work.

6) Tell us a little about your process with writing. Is it more a controlled, or a spontaneous freewriting style?

Catrice: It depends. I mainly channel my work. I feel it is given. It is then my responsibility to refine the bulk of what was given to be sure it expresses clearly and serves the message of the work. The craft I have honed over the years and continue to hone is a skill. Those literary skills for editing then come into play. But often while I am writing, what I am channeling my mind is working very fast to edit at the same time. I allow my mind to simply speak what needs to be said. Sometimes I receive a lot. And other times, a phrase, a word, an idea, a partial Stanza. All of it eventually, shows up later in layers that are building to create something new. I feel that my job as a poet is to be present, listen intently to myself, be a witness, and scribe.

7) Are there any other people/environments/hometowns/vacations that has helped influence your writing?

Catrice: There is nothing singular for me to point to. My writing is influenced by the totality of life experiences, education, observation, perceptions, spiritual faith, heritages, connection and spiritual receptiveness. It is a reflection of an acceptance of my fellow man as I observe, receive and process enormous amounts of information.

8) What is the most rewarding part of the writing process, and in turn the most frustrating part of the writing process?

Catrice: Most frustrating — sometimes the poems come channeling through so fast and it may be an inopportune time for me to write it down. Or the lines are coming in so quickly that I am not fast enough to write it down verbatim as I am receiving the lines. I end up sometimes writing an approximation and that is often not quite on target.

Most rewarding — is the fact that I am allowed to channel through and write down these beautiful, divine, words and sentiments. The fact that I am a part of this divine process, I often feel very humbled and grateful to be a writer. The process for me is filled with music, emotion, colors, rhythms, visions, that somehow translate into words. That process even for me is well beyond me. Yes, I am an academically trained writer. But I didn’t start out that way. I was quite young when I started. For me, my process is unique as well as it has a foot in classic approaches.

I am grateful when anyone feels organically connected to the work when it is healing or creates healthy dialogue that can foster positive change. If a heart is touched, if someone feels seen or heard by my work, then I know I have been of service to my greater community and that when I was called by said poem to write it into existence, I was correct in answering that call. It served a soul. To me, that level of service is a high honor.

I did not get to be the doctor/writer I had hoped to become like William Carlos Williams. I wanted to be a psychiatrist. But, in this way, I am taking part in helping with vastness of unity and oneness of healing, speaking truths for my fellow man as well as for myself. For me, to be allowed to be part of that divine miracle, even as a scribe and a witness, is humbling and rewarding.

9) How has this past year impacted you emotionally, how has it impacted you creatively if it all?

Catrice: For me, I have a long personal story. Too long for this interview. For a number of personal reasons, disability as healing, being one, I was already living sequestered and very alone prior to the pandemic. When this began, emotionally I was already on a path to find ways to reach out to connect even though I could not physically reach others as well. This year, not due to Covid-19, but two of my close friends died. I was already mourning so much for so many loved ones that passed away. Emotionally, I needed to connect with other humans and live again. Feel alive. I did not wish to impose my will on changing the situation. I felt and prayed that I would like to walk through this with my fellow humans and somehow live as much as possible and authentically as possible. Emotionally, that meant managing any anxiety, or depression, any last hurts that can show up when we have time to think. Allow myself to clear and let go of all things no longer needed and to even now commit to honoring my solitude, my need for connection, interdependence, joy, love, need for healthy intimacy with self and others, and healthy boundaries.

All of these things have some contingency on voice and its authenticity.

Being honest with self about what I truly feel, what and who makes me feel uncomfortable, knowing what I truly need and want, desire, and voicing that clearly is a healthy evolution in my state of being. This also includes me being able to take action with healthy boundaries and not be crushed under the weight of dissension, intimidation, silence, lack of connection or understanding or respect from others. In this space, I learned to honor my voice unapologetically in the healthiest way. I also learned to embrace my deepest needs and desires. By doing all of that, I am like most humans a continual work in progress, my work reflects this authenticity and growth.

The more I see and accept my self, the higher divine self, the shadow self, the unspoken, the traumatized self, the unloved self, the unseen self, the healing self, the transcendent soul, the imperfect self, the creative self, the unbound spiritual self, the grounded self, the bold, the loving self — all of the parts as integrated parts without judgement, then I have been more adept in my poetic work to speak clearly in the service of the work. It seems that humanity resonates for other people who feel connected to the work and the voice I have to offer to our community of humans. This moment in time is one for which I share in collective mourning and also appreciate our collective unity, transformation, and healing. Emotionally, this year has shown me a great deal about myself and others.

Creatively, I have become even more in tune and immensely prolific. All for which I am deeply grateful.

Thank you for this interview. Be well.

Yearning Through the Fog by Catrice Greer

It’s a busy time
the car exhausts, the fires breathing smoke over the twilight
pollution laying across the horizon as if on a chaise, lounging
overstuffed dumpsters, overflowing with wrappers,
peels, discarded boxes, and stench
trees half bare dangling windblown bags at their tips
trying to take a stand, hold back the school of loop-winged
billowed-bottomed plastics flying by
the grass sparse, dirt scratched patches,
concrete overtaking the landscape
We miss the deer and their morning hellos
We miss the murder of crows and their caw caws
We miss the foxes leaping over and under the brush playing hide and go seek
We have not seen enough rabbits before dawn

Cortical Cartography by Catrice Greer

I give thanks for you bravely doing this again
traveling synapse by synapse
trails of electric pulses
jumping blackhole gaps
that used to remember
holding the dead space
a new soma body
birthing from bleating darkness
show us the nucleus
the middles
of what we were made of
Axons spread
like kamikaze flying squirrel bodies
with arms akimbo
reaching
dendrites touching
Grateful for even
this axon potential
sometimes on
sometimes off
Praise for brave
synaptic
dives and jumps
Grateful for re-birthed
myelin insulating
protecting
making sure that we traffic on
our way by the quickest route
charged
in this dark matter
discovery-space
This astronomy
building anew,
wrinkled city of light,
crevices, crannies,
gyri and sulci,
ridges and valleys
jellied,
crinkled mass
sectioned by lobes
all speaking trillions
simultaneous
synaptic voices
prayerfully all at once
this chatter mines
the neuronal network
and we build

a whole new world

Catrice Greer @cgreer_greer is a poet and writer who resides in Baltimore, Maryland. She is a 2020, Pushcart Prize Nominee. In November 2020, Catrice served as a Cheltenham Poetry Festival, Poet in Residence.  Catrice’s poetic work explores a range of topics about the human condition. She currently performs as a featured poetic artist or via poetry artist collectives in international virtual open mics. Her recent poems were published in Icefloe Press, the historic Afro-American Newspaper, a Phenomenal Womxn Anthology, Baltimore Health Behavioral Services art gallery, and local newsletters. She is currently working on publishing her first chapbook. She has recently read at the Cheltenham Poetry Festival with Damien Donnelly

Social Media:

Twitter: @cgreer_cgreer

Instagram: @gcatrice

Links to published poetry:

IceFloe Press:

AFRO-American Newspaper:

“The Heights”  https://www.afro.com/the-heights/

“Presence and Absence” https://www.afro.com/presence-absence/

“I Am Home” https://www.afro.com/i-am-home/

Behavioral Health System Baltimore:

“Your Path is Your Own Virtual Art Gallery”

Soundcloud: (Audio)

Poetry: wave is a circular motion by Peach Delphine

Out of the wound
we come singing
a chorus of wings
swallowed by daylight.

Hand that balances wind
waiting on the surface,
out from the creek, free diving,
descending from surface warmth,
gathering shells,
ascending in one long exhalation,
leaving the squeeze of depth
and coldness behind.

There is a voice in lightless sea,
entering through eye,
answering voice of shadow
buried beneath sternum
coiled about spine, always
we feel the vibrations
in our feet and hands
always we feel the wire
of edge, the burnished arc
of time.

This form has become shadow
of cloud, darkening shallows
for a moment, turtle grass,
blue crabs, bonnethead sharks,
ponderous and seeking tongue
of horse conch, the sea is indifferent
to this body, the multiplicity of forms
has buoyed me out past the Key of memory
into the open Gulf of sapphire
reflected in your eyes.

Surfacing breathless, unfolded

from palms the optic remains unspoken,
fronds shimmering with morning,
a spent shell lifted from shallows,
empty of body,
my own emptiness filled with sea
restlessly seeking reunification
with the greater body
an ebb and flow of so many small voices
in the roots of mangrove,
a clinging of barnacles
to our mothering wood,
leaves of voices lifting
to azure, a different blue
than your eyes reflecting
sea and horizon.

from palms the optic remains unspoken,
fronds shimmering with morning,
a spent shell lifted from shallows,
empty of body,
my own emptiness filled with sea
restlessly seeking reunification
with the greater body
an ebb and flow of so many small voices
in the roots of mangrove,
a clinging of barnacles
to our mothering wood,
leaves of voices lifting
to azure, a different blue
than your eyes reflecting
sea and horizon.

Peach Delphine is a queer poet from Tampa, Florida. Infatuated with what remains of the undeveloped Gulf coast.

white clouds

Poetry: Cartoon by David L O’Nan (from the Cartoon Diaries)


I am a cartoon
Spawned out of sedatives,
And the undressing of social ghosts

From another era,
A misplaced shadow
Picked up by his brain
And placed into the grey
The black and white mingling
With the coolers of evergreen grass,
And sunshine
Only on days beyond the pale


The programmed moments
To feel human
Soon the eclipsing,
Back to the litter
The polluting of liar’s kisses


The youth that have regressed
From freedom to greed
I am a cartoon
All eyes wanting a joke,
You have become the joke
Smiles are for the pretty,
The handsome


The crooked money ticklers &
The sensual succubus
Teasing you into a melting,
Staining thought


Restraint, your control
Faceless,
Soul non-existent
Your mouth dry,
Drawn on
By the hedonistic mystery of power


You are tattooed in –
The rust of their hearts
All eyes are fake, to you
Their spinning, dancing words –
Are dreams, to you
When they move b y you
Fast like a motor’s hum
Trying to inject their life,
Inside your bubble
Puncturing the ink from my skin


They are annoying, to you


I am a cartoon
Murdered from the loving,
Peaceful world we knew –
Many vastly shaded moons ago –
And placed into this,
Whatever this is?


The unknowing,
The apprehension,
The reality
Placed into the soil to resurrect mania
Buried into this soil
To alleviate trusting


A cartoon always wonders
If they’ll make it –
To the next page

This poem is from my book “The Cartoon Diaries” (2019) found at this link tinyurl.com/v2pg5nrv Follow me on twitter @davidlonan1 and @feversof